


o, isabella

by dixonbelcourts



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, death cw considering his siter, haha yeah, hes kinda fucked, its fucked, prison cw, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6491641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixonbelcourts/pseuds/dixonbelcourts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corvo's birthday is spent in Coldridge. He misses his twin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	o, isabella

The last time he really celebrated his birthday was when he was when he was twelve. Father was alive then, Isabelle was still here. Father was alive then, as was Mother, and it almost hurts Corvo to think about. Still in poverty, there was no celebration, but the occasion was acknowledged, a song sang. Father wasn't supposed to die within those next few months. Mother's health went into the pits after that, and Corvo took to scavenging for the family.  
Isabelle was the older twin, something she always enjoyed boasting about. Corvo remembers her smiles fondly. But those times are long since passed, the date of his and Isabelle's birth a buried thought. 

Coldridge has to keep documentation on the prisoners residing there. Of weight, of health, of ages. So this year, he is reminded. 

Emily always wanted to celebrate his birthday. She would ask if they could light a candle for his sister too, only for Corvo to tense. The girl had apologized, shriveled up into a ball. After that, Corvo returned to his chambers.

The dripping of a loose pipe above him is almost calming, letting Corvo drift off to the rhythm. But a guard bangs on his cell door with the hilt of a sword, laughing and hissing Dumb Serk. Corvo sighs, but the slur stopped bothering him many years ago. The guard calls him forward, blunt and simple voice sounding no different than the other hundreds of Watchmen in Dunwall. Everything is the same in Coldridge.

The past few months have broken him. There's only so long he can deny that fact. Sweat causes unwashed hair to stick to his skin. He's lost so much weight you can see his ribs in the right light, though he'll cringe under it. Just as he does as he approaches the guard. Corvo leans against the wall, glancing into the grey eyes of the watchman.

"Regent says it's your birthday," the guard says simply, looking down at papers in his left hand.

Corvo halts. With endless days in Coldridge, he's no reason nor oppurtunity to keep track of a calender. The 25th day of the Month of Nets was looked upon with sheer disdain. A longing for a sister lost to the streets of Serkonos. 

"Month of Nets, 25th. Right?"

The guard reads from the document and Corvo is lost to thought. Of Isabelle, of Serkonan streets, of Jessamine, of Blade Verbena, of -  
He should have let Emily celebrate him when he had the chance.

The pang of the guard's sword against the cell door knocks Corvo out of his trance. He rushes to nod, a mumbled string of repeated 'Yes, yes, yes.' under his breath. Locks of hair hide his features as well as the dark of the cell. He's grateful for that. The guard nods, dropping the document to the ground and returning his focus to his sword. 

"Happy thirty-ninth, Attano." the watchman mumbles as he turns away. 

Corvo slumps against the wall of his cell, repeating names of people both loved and hated under his breath. Isabelle, Isabelle, Isabelle. Was she even alive to celebrate? He takes the paper from the ground, inklessly penning her name into the paper with his finger.


End file.
